Baking at Midnight
by Literature Rogue
Summary: When she's nervous, she nests. When she's upset, she bakes. Izzie isn't upset. She's devastated. But a latenight chat and apple pie might be able to make her feel a little bit better. ONESHOT. Post LMR.


**Rogue: Alright. So I'm obsessive-compulsive over Grey's Anatomy. Sue me. I'm also obsessed over couples that other people don't love. For example, I'm not a MerDer. But I suppose there is a growing MerMark club growing...I like Addie/Alex (is there a name for that? Oo). I also like Dizzie. Sue me again. This isn't Dizzie. Not really. This is just coping. Or baking. But it's all the same to Izzie.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did the above couples would most likely be shown as cannon and people would want to shoot me...Well, more people would want to shoot me then they do now anyway...**

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**Choosing your lifelong career is a difficult decision. Most people struggle through their high school years toying with the idea of various jobs before finally, in a stroke of brilliance, figuring out how they want to spend the rest of their lives. Think about it. What if you chose the wrong career? What if you got stuck in a job you hated for thirty plus years of your life? That would not be a good thing, would it? The idea of possible failure is what leads most people to think long and hard about career paths. Some people even need to go to therapy or counseling to figure out just how they want to go on in the future. 

Not Isobel Stevens.

For as long as she could remember, or at least back since she was around sixteen years old, all Izzie wanted to be was a surgeon. She wanted to succeed, she wanted to be better then what everyone thought she could be. Her family, her neighbors, they all thought that, after she had that baby, her life would just go on a downward spiral from there. The bright, funny young girl they all knew would fade into the background and become just like the rest of them, desperately scraping for enough change to pay the bills each month. Watching her mother struggle over the years had taught Izzie one thing. She was not going to grow up to work the graveyard shift at the diner.

Izzie Stevens was determined that would never happen.

From the day she gave up her baby Izzie knew she wanted to be a doctor. No, she knew she wanted to be a surgeon. It was a simple decision for her, really. All she wanted to do was succeed, and maybe live a better life then her mother had. All Izzie wanted to do was save lives. All she wanted to be was a surgeon. Through the remainder of high school, and then college, and Med. school Izzie kept her eyes on the prize at the end of the long and winding road to her dream. If she wanted to be a surgeon, and she did want to be a surgeon, she had to push through.

And she did.

Izzie made it through four years of college, she got through Med. school, she passed her Medical Boards with flying colors. The day she got accepted into the internship program at Seattle Grace Hospital was one of the best days of her life. She wasn't just going to be one of those girls waiting tables in the diner down the street. She was going to be a surgeon. She was going to save lives. And her future was set.

Izzie Stevens was a surgeon.

She sometimes wondered if the other interns, her friends, if they all just _knew_ they were supposed to be surgeons like she did. Izzie sometimes wondered if they sat up at night debating the pros and cons of hospital life. But she came to the conclusion that there was probably no other job Cristina would want to do or even tolerate. George seemed content with being the one to stand out in his family. She couldn't picture Alex in a suit - of course that might have had something to do with seeing him in scrubs so many times. And she doubted Meredith had any side careers in mind. In fact, she was sure Meredith's mother even _told_ her daughter not to become a surgeon. But she did anyway. Obviously they all wanted this.

Izzie wasn't working in a diner for the rest of her life.

She was, however, currently in the kitchen of the house she shared with George and Meredith. She was baking. Again. In the past week it had become almost instinctive for her to wake up in the middle of the night, refuse to cry anymore, and get up to make cupcakes.

Today Izzie was baking pie.

She wasn't exactly sure why she was making pie. Maybe it was because pie was portable and when Meredith and George woke up in the morning they could take a slice to work with them. Izzie knew she shouldn't sit around eating every baked good she concocted. It couldn't be healthy. Actually, she reminded herself, she knew it wasn't healthy. She was -was as in past tense- a doctor. A _surgeon_. She knew the exact reason why sweets weren't good for you.

But Izzie didn't care.

When she was nervous, she nested. When she was upset about something, she baked. Izzie wasn't upset. She was downright devastated. A week ago today Denny had died. A week ago today she'd ended her surgical career. A week ago today -she glanced at the clock, 2:59 a.m.- she had no idea that she, who had once been so happy and carefree, would be left broken. She had nothing left. There was no Dr. Izzie Stevens. There was just her. Just Izzie. Just Izzie left alone without her Denny, just Izzie left to look up and wonder if he was happy.

Izzie didn't need to wonder.

Denny had once told her that he preferred heaven to life on earth. She was convinced she'd changed his mind. He only agreed to the entire L-VAD escapade because of her. Denny did it for her, not for himself. Denny did it for Izzie. The entire thing made her sick. Izzie couldn't think about him anymore. When she thought of Denny, she wanted to cry. But she couldn't cry. First of all it was a sign of weakness.

Second of all Izzie was almost certain her tear ducts had dried up.

So now at three o'clock in the morning the former intern sat waiting for her apple pie to finish cooking. Apple pie was so simple. She preferred anything else to it. More complicated recipes always seemed to taste better to her. But apple was George's favorite. She wasn't the one who was going to be eating this pie. Izzie promised herself there would be no more I'm-depressed-so-I'm-eating binges. She'd promised herself that the night he'd died. Izzie hadn't eaten much of anything since then. The only thing she ate was the bits of sugared treats her friends would bring up to her at various times throughout the day. Izzie knew she was worrying them. But before she could make them feel all right about her she had to feel all right about herself.

Izzie didn't know how much time it would take her to heal.

She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. It wasn't cold in the house. Actually, most people would find it cozy. But Izzie had been cold lately. She had the sneaking feeling that she was feeling cold because Denny was feeling cold. She remembered the time he'd told her that he always had cold hands. And after the transplant surgery his hands were warm. The night of prom Denny's hands had been freezing. When Izzie touched them, she felt strange, like because Denny was cold inside she was cold inside, too.

Izzie didn't like to feel cold.

Her eyes were hollow and there were purple bags underneath. Obviously she was tired. Izzie didn't think she'd gotten more then an hour's sleep each night since it happened. She was too busy missing him, his smile, his voice, his eyes, too busy baking to sleep. Izzie's steady gaze was boring into a hole on the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing. She poked her thumb out of it and sighed heavily, tearing her eyes away and staring at the green digital numbers on the clock. In the darkened kitchen they were the only source of light so it was easy to avoid contact with the sweater.

Izzie was wearing Denny's sweater.

Or to be more precise, Izzie was wearing the sweater she'd knitted for Denny. It seemed she wore this sweater a lot over the week. It smelled like him. She didn't think she'd ever wash it. Even if she'd memorized his eyes, his smile, his smell Izzie liked having his distinct scent around. It comforted her far more then anything any of her friends had said to her. But at the same time the smell of Denny wasn't enough. It reminded her that that was all she would get. His smell was all that she had of him.

Soft footsteps caught Izzie's attention. Her gaze shifted from the clock to glance about slowly. Who would be up at this time of night? In the back of her mind Izzie knew who it was. She wished it wasn't but she knew who it was. Burying her head in her arms Izzie heard the chair across from her screech as someone pulled it out. She heard them sit down, and heard steady breathing. She sighed heavily, staring only at the stitching of the sweater, breathing in the scent. "What are you doing here?"

He echoed her sigh. "I do live here, you know."

Typical George. Izzie spoke into her arms once more. "I mean why are you up? You have rounds in the morning. You should be asleep."

"So should you," he answered evenly. Izzie didn't answer. Instead she slid her chair out and moved to the stove. Pulling on a pair of oven mitts she removed her pie from the oven and set it on the counter. She leaned her weight against the counter and breathed in the scent of the pie, drowning out the smell of Denny. She moved away, returning to her seat at the table.

"It's apple," she stated unnecessarily. Anyone with a nose could tell by the sweet smell what kind of pie it was. Izzie kept her head up by was easily avoiding George's gaze by counting the grains in the table. "Your favorite. I thought maybe you could have some for breakfast if you-"

"Izzie..." The way he said her name made her trail off lamely. The tone he used was the one she hated the most. Pity. The last thing Izzie needed was one more person feeling sorry for her. What she needed was for everyone to leave her alone. Or at least for them to give her time to think things through. She couldn't do that with people around. That was why Izzie was partial to late night baking. Generally people didn't disturb you at three o'clock in the morning.

George wasn't general in the least.

"Don't 'Izzie' me, George," she murmured staring at him for the first time in what felt like ages. It had been a few days. " So I'm going through a rough time. It's not like I'm dying. It's not like I'm fading away." George was giving her that look, that scolded puppy look he always used when hurt or confused. Izzie was very vulnerable to a good puppy-dog face.

George had one of the best puppy-dog faces Izzie had ever seen.

"It kinda _feels_ like you're fading away, Iz." His voice was soft, but calm. "You don't laugh anymore. You don't smile anymore. You don't even _talk to me _anymore." George frowned at Izzie's forced smile. "I thought we were friends. Best friends, even."

"George -I- we are..."

"Then why are you just pushing me away?" He murmured, voice holding the slightest bit of confusion. "Why are you pushing everyone away? We're all here for you, Izzie." George inhaled deeply. "You don't have to be alone. You don't have to fade."

"I'm not fading," she insisted. Her voice lowered slightly causing George to lean forward to catch the next bit. "And maybe I _want_ to be alone. But not really alone. Maybe I want to be alone. With..."

"Denny?" Izzie nodded slowly. George understood that, really he did. It was just strange how Izzie had seemingly disappeared from his life. They used to talk on the way to work. They used to laugh in the elevator and chat by the nurse's station. They used to drink after work and discuss the hardships of being an intern. Now George rarely saw Izzie and when he did he almost wished he hadn't. She looked so sad, so lost, so broken. And all he wanted to do was to be able to fix her. "I get that," George murmured with a small nod. "But do you really need to be with Denny all the time? Wouldn't it be nice to be with us sometimes, too? Wouldn't it...wouldn't it help to get out of the house and to stop midnight baking?"

Izzie shook her head slowly. "It's the way I deal with problems, George." He sighed heavily, leaning his chair back on two legs and tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. He really wished Denny could come back for two seconds to assure Izzie that he was okay, and that he was waiting for her.

Denny was waiting for her.

The chair hit the ground with a light 'thud'. Izzie looked up from counting floor tiles. "I know you loved Denny. He loved you, too. Iz, he's waiting for you up there. He's got eternity to wait for you." Izzie was sitting rigid-backed and clutching a spatula in one hand. George leaned forward and pried the cooking utensil from her and set it aside. He laid his hand palm up next to the spatula. "But what you've got to realize is he loved you. And someone who loves you that much would want you to be happy."

Izzie's gaze drifted from the spatula to George. "I can't just forget about him, George..."

"I'm not telling you to," he assured. "I'm just saying he wants you to be happy. This, what you're doing now is not happy. I bet Denny would want you to find a guy that makes you as happy as he did. I bet he wouldn't mind at all. I think he was a good guy, Izzie. I think he would want to know you were happy."

"I thought I was happy. With him."

George sighed heavily. "You were happy, Iz. But you used to be happy all the time. It's just weird seeing you like this. What you need to understand is Denny's got eternity to wait for you. You have a lifetime to wait for him." Izzie noticed his voice was getting softer with each word. She leaned forward to hear him better. "But I don't think he'd want you to waste that lifetime alone...I don't want you to be alone, either." George was leaning forward as well. Izzie figured he was just waiting for her to answer him, to tell him she was better and that he helped her so much or whatever. Instead she found his lips pressed to hers and his hand entangled in her hair.

It was quick, but powerful. When George pulled away he was blushing lightly and cleared his throat loudly. "S-sorry. I-" He silenced himself when he felt her hand enclose around his palm on the table. George nearly jumped but was soothed slightly by Izzie's small smile. It was a shadow of her former grin, but this time he could tell she wasn't faking it. He was slightly surprised to see that she, too, was blushing.

"Don't be sorry, George," she murmured quietly. Quiet overtook them for a moment before Izzie stood, breaking their hand link and retrieving the pie from the counter top. Placing it between them she slid a fork across the table. She was already digging her own fork into the pie's crust.

George stared at the fork for a moment before his gaze drifted to Izzie, shoving food into her mouth as if starving. "So...what does this mean?" Izzie rolled her eyes lightly.

"It means I want you to share this pie with me."

George's eyes seemed to lose a bit of that childish spark they always seemed to hold, though he did plunge his fork into the pie and swallow a mouthful whole. It was really, _really_ hard to be mad at Izzie when she baked so well. In fact, he wasn't quite sure he was mad at her. Sure, he would have preferred a bit more acknowledgment to what had just happened but maybe she was just...shocked or something. After all, she and Meredith thought of him as a sister.

George was more then slightly surprised when Izzie pecked him on the cheek before tossing her fork in the sink. "It also means I want you to share more then that with me." George tilted his head slightly to the side. Izzie was smiling again.

Izzie Stevens was a surgeon.


End file.
